


Coal To Diamonds

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Community: dhr_advent, Draco Malfoy - character, Fatherhood, Gen, Grief, HP: EWE, Mourning, Narcissa Malfoy - character, Parents & Children, Single Parents, Widowed, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year after Hermione's death, a grieving Draco watches his daughter build a snowwitch. A lump of coal and a quiet conversation helps him realize he can heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coal To Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DHR Advent calender, December 2012

Even in the middle of winter, he loved walking up the long, hedge-lined lane to the Manor. The great bulk of the building, ancient stones guarding an ancient bloodline and family, satisfied something deep within him. He looked up at the house with a nod of pride before knocking the snow from his boots outside the tall wooden doors. When he stepped inside, warmth surrounded him, magic and charms layered by centuries of Malfoys to keep even the draftiest room comfortable. The corner of a tapestry fluttered in the breeze as he shut the door, as if the house itself was waving to welcome him home.

Draco dropped his satchel into the outstretched arms of his house-elf, Bontemps, and shrugged out of his cloak. Hanging it on the tall iron stand at the side of the foyer so it would dry, he ruffled his fringe to knock away the few snowflakes that clung to his pale hair. "Bontemps has fresh tea for Master," the house-elf said, bowing low. His extra-long ears brushed the floor. "Mistress and Little Miss are in the play garden."

Draco sucked in a breath. "In this weather? It's freezing. Bontemps, I've warned you to--"

"Little Miss is very warm," Bontemps said, his green skin darkening to emerald with a blush at interrupting the master of the house. His huge eyes were wide with his rush to get all his words out and he scurried beside Draco as they strode through the house to the east wing. "Very warm, yes. Cloak and scarf and hat and mittens and boots, very warm. Mistress made sure of it all before Little Miss went outside."

Draco nodded and entered the cozy sitting room at the rear of the house. "All right, that will do." He forced his voice to remain steady and not betray his fear. Anyone in the family could take ill in cold like this, and he reminded himself to be certain that everyone had strengthening potions before bed. Closing his eyes, he shook back his worries. 

The early evening sun, winter-pale but bright, poured through the tall windows of the sitting room and the open doors at the far side. A slight shimmer near the doors indicated a barrier spell to keep out the cold and light dusting of snow. Bontemps brought a cup of black tea, thick with milk and sugar, and Draco sipped it as he went to the doors. Something crunched under his boots. He looked down in confusion to find a scattering of black lumps on the plush carpet. He'd crushed one and it had crumbled into the twisting design, almost disappearing into the fibers. Glancing at Bontemps, Draco gestured at the mess.

"Little Miss said not to touch, Master," Bontemps said with an apologetic hop. "Little Miss was not sure which would make good eyes."

Draco furrowed his brows, not understanding. Bontemps swooped down, plucked two lumps from the floor, and held them up. "Coal, Master. For snowwitch eyes."

Comprehension dawned and Draco made a hum of acknowledgment as he looked out the door. More lumps of coal were scattered across the snow-covered terrace in a looping black line that led to the three shallow steps down to the play garden. Beside the fairy cottage, its elaborate fretwork painted in pinks, purples, and greens, he spotted two well-bundled figures crouched near the beginnings of a snowman. Snowwitch, he mentally corrected himself with a smile.

He leaned against the door frame to drink his tea while he watched the two gesture over and around a head-sized ball of snow. The face of the snowwitch was apparently the subject of hot debate. Once a pair of coal eyes had been selected and pushed into place, the two builders stepped back to look over their work. Draco waved in greeting when they turned his direction. A gleeful shriek floated to him. He handed his tea to Bontemps and stepped onto the terrace, twitching when he passed through the barrier spell into the cold air. Snowflakes dusted his shoulders as he crouched, both arms out, and braced himself for the impact of a little girl charging at him. Her red scarf flapped behind her; her hat flew off as she ran. Her wild curls bounced around her shoulders.

She threw herself into his arms and clung to him, chattering at top speed. "Daddy! Daddy's home! Daddy, did you see my snowwitch? She's pretty! She's pretty, right?"

Draco wrapped both arms around her and stood carefully. He looked at the snowwitch and gave a solemn nod of approval. "Jolly good," he said in his poshest tones, grinning at the rapid giggles the accent caused. "Pip, pip, tally ho and all that." In his own voice he added, "Fine work. She's very pretty." 

He rubbed the tip of his nose on his daughter's cheek, pretending to shiver. "Chilly. Maybe you're the snowwitch, Nemmy."

More giggles followed. Draco nodded at Narcissa as she came toward them, Nemmy's bright hat swinging from one hand. "Hello darling," she said, pressing her cheek to his. "Welcome home."

"Mum," he said warmly. "Busy day?" He followed her into the sitting room. Nemmy shook her hair out and Draco copied to amuse her, both of them knocking snowflakes to the carpet.

"Mnemosyne remembered a song her mother taught her about a snowman," Narcissa said as she unwound her scarf and stripped off her leather gloves. "We've spent all afternoon building our snowwitch." She looked at him with a cautious expression, watching his reactions.

Draco felt his heart speed up and his breath grow heavy, but he put on a smile when he lowered his daughter to the floor. He helped her out of her wraps, handing each piece to Bontemps. "Did you now?" he asked, working the mittens off her little hands. "That's wonderful. Your mummy sang to you all the time, Nemmy."

"Before she died," Nemmy said with a nod that made her hair sway in front of her reddened face.

Draco closed his eyes and took a moment to steady his voice, then smoothed her curls back. "Yes. Before she died," he said quietly. "What song did you remember? Frosty, was it?"

"Frosty, yeah!" Nemmy bounced around the sitting room, singing off-key. The tune was vaguely familiar to Draco. It stirred the memory of a different winter, an afternoon in the gardens behind the Manor, a witch with her curls full of snowflakes and her cheeks red with cold. She'd sung the entire time, Muggle carols and holiday tunes, but her favorite had been the one about the snowman. Two eyes made out of coal, she'd sung, over and over again until he pounced on her and rubbed snow in her hair and kissed the breath from her to make her stop.

He turned away, putting the image out of his head. "That's good," he said, his words a little rough. He cleared his throat and steadied his voice. "That's good, Nemmy. Why don't you sing that to me sometime? I'd like to hear the whole thing."

"Can't 'member all of it," Nemmy said. She slung an arm around his leg, her head pressed to his thigh. "Need a top hat, Daddy. What's a top hat? Can snowwitches wear top hats like snowmen?"

"Snowwitches can wear any hats they like," he said, patting her curls. "Top hats are very tall black hats. Like the one Caelinus has in his portrait."

"Oh." She drew out the vowel in understanding. "Can we get one?"

"First thing tomorrow," Draco promised. "Go wash up with Bontemps and get changed so we can have snacks before bed."

Nemmy cheered and released his leg to skip after the house-elf. Draco sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. He swore into his palms, his lungs aching as he tried to breathe.

Narcissa touched his shoulder, then gently stroked his hair. "She wanted the snowwitch to look like her mother," she murmured. "It took us an hour to find coal that had the right shine. She was very firm on how the eyes should appear. Even asked Bontemps to fetch the photo albums so we could be sure."

"Stubborn," he said. "Just like Hermione." He managed not to stumble over her name, though it took him a few moments to gather the strength to sit up with a calmer expression. When he did, Narcissa patted his shoulder and took a seat facing him. She pulled a pair of knitting needles from the basket beside her chair. The soft clack of the needles as she resumed work on a shawl was a steadying, familiar sound, even as it brought up another flash of memory.

Draco scrubbed both hands over his face, exhaling sharply. "She looks so much like her," he said. "The resemblance is just.... God. Every time I look at her, I see Hermione."

"I know," Narcissa said. Her voice was full of understanding. "Every time I look at you, I can see your father."

"How did you do it?" he asked, one eye on the door for his daughter's return. He brushed his thumb over the gold ring on his left hand, then deliberately flattened his fingers on his thigh to stop the motion when he realized what he'd done.

Narcissa kept her eyes on her knitting, allowing him the illusion that she hadn't noticed his actions. "I had more warning," she said, her voice soft. "Your father's death was ... not unexpected. His health after Azkaban was never right. I was prepared to let him go. And you were already a young man, then. It's no surprise that you're having difficulties now. It's not even been a year and it was so sudden. Being left with a daughter barely five years old on top of that? Well."

"A cold," he said. He closed his eyes and fought back the memories of Hermione's racking cough the previous winter, the chills that shook her for hours and the sweating fever that soaked the linens on their bed. "I still can't believe it. We thought it was just a cold."

"It's very hard, Draco, but you're doing a good job. You don't let your grief affect how you spend time with Mnemosyne. I couldn't be prouder of you."

Draco swallowed around the thick lump in his throat and struggled not to let his thoughts overwhelm him. If they'd only taken Hermione to the Healers earlier, if she'd only dressed more warmly, if only they hadn't been skating on the pond for so long....

Pounding footsteps stopped him from falling too deep into his regrets. He leaned back in the chair and smiled for Nemmy as she ran in. Her cotton nightdress, decorated with pictures of rampant lions, hung short a few inches below her knees and he told himself to remember that they would need to shop for her soon. "All clean?"

"Clean as a whistle!" She climbed up into his lap. Head on his shoulder and legs dangling between his knees, she drew his fingers along the ribbing of his jumper. "Gamma makes good snowwitches," she said. "We used magic so all the balls were perfly round."

"Perfectly," Draco corrected gently. "Good to hear. Round snowwitches are the best kind. Gamma helped me make snowmen when I was your age, since I wasn't allowed to use magic yet either. But you're getting so big. It won't be long at all before we go to Ollivander's and pick out your first wand."

"Nut-uh," she said, shaking her hand on his chest. "Got a wand. Mummy said I could have hers."

Nemmy didn't seem to notice how Draco tensed. He combed his fingers through her thick curls while he cast about mentally for something to say. Hermione's possessions were packed away for when Nemmy was older, but he hadn't known that she'd promised her wand to their daughter. "She did?" he finally said when Nemmy looked up at him. Her eyes were the same pale grey of all the Malfoy line, but the shape of them and the arch of her little brows were Hermione's in miniature. He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "Well, then. Looks like that's all taken care of. I'll make sure that Bontemps keeps your mummy's wand polished and waxed for you."

Nemmy settled against him, one heel kicking at his calf. For a few minutes, the only sounds were Narcissa's clacking needles and the hissing pop of logs in the fireplace. Bontemps appeared with the tea tray and began setting out cups and small plates of biscuits. Draco thought Nemmy would jump off his lap and head straight for the table and the slender pink biscuits she favored, but she stayed in the chair with him. After a few moments, he heard a quiet sniffle.

He looked down to see Nemmy rubbing her eyes on her sleeve. "What's wrong, princess?" he asked, gathering her up in his arms.

"I miss Mummy," she said in a tiny voice. She sniffed again and buried her face in his chest, one hand around his neck.

Draco patted her back gently. "I know. I know, princess. I miss her too. I miss her loads." His voice started to tremble and he ground his teeth to hold it steady. His daughter's small whimpers were breaking his heart. He cradled her close and crooned to her, letting her cry into the wool of his jumper.

Narcissa sat quiet with her knitting. Bontemps tended the fire and swept up the crumbles and lumps of coal. Draco held Nemmy as she cried. With her face turned to the thick wool, she couldn't see his eyes, and he bent his head to her dark hair and allowed himself a few silent tears. He tried not to mourn in front of his daughter, tried not to let her see his grief, but at that moment, hearing the pain in his little girl's weeping, he couldn't stop himself. He let a few tears fall into Nemmy's curls and rocked her gently.

When she finally cried herself to sleep, her fingers twisted in his jumper, Draco kissed her hair and exhaled slowly to settle himself. His legs were going to sleep from her weight, but he didn't have the heart to release her just yet.

He remembered the first time he'd held her, nestled into a rocking chair while the midwife bustled around Hermione, exhausted and sweaty from labor. A perfectly formed baby, her squashed face was red and a thin fuzz of dark hair covered her scalp. Draco thought she was the most beautiful baby that had ever been born. She stirred and her tiny fingers moved against his chest. Draco's heart melted in that second. All his fears about fatherhood disappeared as he held his daughter. He touched his signet ring between her brows, whispered an ancient family blessing, and promised her that he would never let her be hurt. He promised that he would always love her, would always guard and protect her and her mother.

Even if he couldn't fulfill all of that promise now, feeling that he had failed to save Hermione from that sudden, terrible illness, he would still protect his daughter. He would never fail to let her know how much he loved her. 

Nemmy moved and Draco hummed to calm her, blinking the tears back. "C'mon, little princess," he murmured as he shifted her to a better position. "Time for bed." He nodded to his mother and lifted Nemmy to his shoulder to take her upstairs.

She clung to his neck as he carried her to her bedroom. The room was decorated in an explosion of colors, each wall a different shade. The floor was littered with stuffed toys, representing every animal imaginable. Draco chuckled to himself when he spotted a small bucket near the hearth, half full of coal lumps. Apparently the decision-making had started here. He wasn't surprised. Hermione had spent many hours singing to Nemmy in this room, and the memory of her mother's songs would be strongest in these surroundings.

He settled Nemmy into bed and tugged the blanket up to her shoulders. Bending over, he kissed her cheek.

"Da," Nemmy murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Draco stroked her hair. "I'm here."

"Tell me a story." Nemmy yawned and turned on her side. Blankets clutched under her chin, she blinked at him. "Story, Daddy."

He sat on the edge of the bed and thought for a moment. "All right. There once was a white dragon--"

"No." She took his hand and played with his fingers, tracing his wedding ring. "Story about Mummy."

"Oh, Nemmy," Draco said softly. "I don't--" She squeezed his hand and looked at him, eyes wide and hopeful. Draco sighed. "All right. Your mummy.... We didn't like each other when we first met and not for years after. It wasn't until we were all grown up that we got to talking, and I learned a lot of things about her. I learned how smart she was, and how much she cared about her friends, and how brave she could be. Eventually, I realized how disappointed I was if I didn't see her every day, and whenever she smiled at me, I was sure I could fly without magic. That was when I realized I'd fallen in love with her. It took me absolutely forever to convince her of that. Your mummy thought she was plain and average and unremarkable. Took me ages to get her to believe me."

He rubbed Nemmy's back while he talked, listening to her breathing as she drifted to sleep. "The first time your mummy and I kissed, it was a total surprise. We were in the fens, looking for a colony of creatures that everyone thought was extinct, but your mum was sure still existed, and she was sure they were intelligent, too. I didn't really believe her, but I went so I could spend the entire day with her. We'd been tromping around for hours and we were both exhausted. I was all over mud and we were soaked from the fens. She tripped over a root and I caught her, but I slipped and we fell into a great puddle. I thought she'd be upset and blame me for it. Then she started laughing. She laughed and laughed and she kissed me. And I knew right then that I would do anything, positively anything to-to...." His throat tightened and he swallowed around the lump. "To have her share the rest of my life. I knew I'd never stop being in love with her. She made me so happy. She gave me a chance when I was sure no one ever would. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have her. And then we had you, and I was even luckier."

A soft snore reached him. Nemmy had fallen asleep, her lashes dark against her cheek. Draco smiled and brushed her hair back, then bent down to kiss her forehead. "Sleep well, princess," he murmured. He tucked her in and made his way back to the sitting room, where Narcissa had put her knitting away and moved to the sofa near the fire. She sat with a cup of tea in her hand and a photo album on her lap. 

She patted the seat next to her, pushing the album onto Draco's knees when he sat. "I can track the change of the years in your smile," she said quietly. She flipped to a marked page near the front of the book, with a photo of him on a toy broom. One tooth was missing in his wide grin, and in the background, Lucius stood with a look of pride. In the next photo, Draco had just begun school at Hogwarts, and he stood on the platform near the train, his tie flapped over one shoulder, eyes bright, but his smile only half-there.

Each following photo showed him with a paler look, with less life in his face. His smile grew narrower, his face thin and pinched. Several pages of the album showed darker spots where pictures had been removed. He couldn't remember entirely, most months of his late teens a blur in his mind where he'd forced himself to forget, but he suspected he'd burned those photos himself. He knew he hadn't been smiling in them.

After a few blank pages, the photos began again. This time, Hermione made appearances in several. In each photo, he was looking at her, smiling at her. Draco shook his head as he looked at the pictures. He hadn't realized how obvious his feelings were on his face, had never noticed that his eyes shone like diamonds when Hermione was there.

Years passed as he turned pages. A jeweled ring appeared on Hermione's left hand, then gold rings on both of them. Her belly swelled round and full, then Nemmy was there. Each photo of him had a brilliant smile. The last, taken the previous winter, was of the three of them wrapped up warm, with ice skates dangling from their hands. They all were smiling wider than the snowman in the background of the photo, lumps of coal forming his eyes and grin, a Gryffindor scarf around his neck.

Draco shut the book and pushed it away, slumping into the corner of the sofa with his hand over his eyes. Narcissa patted his knee gently. "You lost your smile a bit this past year," she said. "But it hasn't gone completely. Not like before. It's still there, darling. You still have something to live for. You have a lovely, clever daughter who thinks that you hung the moon. Let yourself grieve, Draco. But don't ever forget why you loved Hermione. "

She took a piece of coal from the table and held it in front of him. "Mnemosyne told me something today that she said her mother taught her. After enough years, a piece of coal becomes a diamond, and that's why it shines in the sun. It shines because it knows that once time has passed, all the darkness and sharp edges will turn into something beautiful. Something to be treasured." Narcissa put down the coal and looked at him. "Once enough time has passed, your memories of your wife will be a treasure, instead of sharp pain. It will be all right, in time."

Draco stared into the fire, silent for several moments, then he let out his breath in a slow exhale. "There's the reason you and Hermione got along so well. You're both brilliant. Terrifyingly so, sometimes. You cut right to the heart of the matter, don't you?"

He got up, grunting softly when his back twinged. Narcissa tipped her head up and he kissed her temple. "Thanks, Mum," he murmured. "That's just what I needed to hear."

"Coal to diamonds," she said. She patted his arm and put the photo album on the table beside her. She poured a cup of tea and added sugar and milk, stirring gently. "Pain to treasure. It's difficult, Draco. Very difficult. But you are capable of it. I trust you can. And that little girl upstairs, she trusts that you can."

Draco touched her hair and went to the window. The dark hair on the snowwitch fluttered in the wind, white flakes speckling its curls. The fading sun made the snowwitch's coal eyes sparkle and gleam like gems. Draco's heart tightened at the memory of Hermione's eyes, shining with love. Instead of pushing the memory away, he held it close and let it warm him. He put his hand against the glass and imagined her fingers touching his. Coal to diamonds. In time.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know. Coal does not actually become diamonds. It's a common misconception and a simplified explanation that I chose to use for purposes of the story theme.


End file.
